Bert Bell (1895-1959)

There were one or two instances, which you are going to have in any contact sport, and those were thrown out of proportion. The Ray Bray case was one of those and got a lot of publicity. In a preseason game with the Bears, Bray was wearing a face mask and I wasn't. After he hit me, he came down on me with that mask and split my nose open. I was on the ground and couldn't do much, so I kicked him in the balls. Bert Bell fined me $250 and my wife gave him hell. She told him that he had cost her a new coat, so Bert said if I behaved myself and didn't get thrown out of any more games he'd give me the money back. I didn't get into any real trouble the rest of the season, and after the last game Bert gave me a check and made me endorse it over to my wife. The joke was that Bert made a mistake and the check was for $500. When she called Bert and told him about it, he said, "Boy, am I lucky. If Bucko had gotten his hands on that money, I would have never seen the other $250."

Bucko Kilroy

This note came from the Bert Bell estate. The Pennsylvania collector I obtained it from acquired it in about 2006. He was a Steelers collector and had several Bert Bell items so he deemed this note expendable. He was most interested in getting a Chuck Cherundolo signature that I had to help complete a Steeler Legends photo. So in January 2010 I sent him the Cherundolo and cut signatures of four other Steelers including Darrell Hogan, Don Looney, Rocco Pirro, Joe Krupa, and John Yurchey. The note says, "Is your Pef wonderful $580 in your Acc, Love & kisses, Pef." Pef is what his wife, Frances, called him. The collector wrote me that the handwriting compares very favorably to the signed checks that he had in his collection. He believed this note was 100% authentic.

Everybody talks about all the damn pressure that was supposed to be on me . . . .I've never had any pressure in football . . . .Pressure happens when you don't have faith in your ability. I think positive . . . .When I go in, as far as I'm concerned the score is 0-0. I just go out there and "think win." That's all. George Blanda

George Blanda is another one that’s hard to forget. George would bet on anything. You’d go to a bowling alley, and he’d bet he could beat you. You’d play a pinball machine, and he’d be there with a bet. Blanda was a nervous kind of guy. One of the funniest things I remember from those days was when we were breaking the huddle and lining up one game, and all of a sudden I feel George behind me. I was the right guard, and he’s there behind me, his hands under me, and he starts calling the signals. Larry Strickland, the center, who’s got the ball, looked over at me with this strange expression on his face, trying to figure out what the hell George was doing with his hands under the guard instead of the center. Stan Jones

George Blanda signed this 8x10 photo in Nov. 1988 that I obtained from the Chicago Bears. They sold me quite a number of 8x10s that I used to request autographs for a nominal fee of $1 per photo. The above 1956 and 1958 Topps cards are ones that I bought as a kid in those years. My son, William, was about ten years old in probably about 1988 when he drew this pencil sketch of George Blanda and sent it to him to be autographed.

Lou Creekmur (1927-2009)

These cards of Lou Creekmur are the actual cards I bought when I was a ten and eleven year old kid (probably from Wolfe's Market). It seems I was pretty rough on the earlier card, but the 1957 card is in excellent shape.

Art "Fatso" Donovan (1925- )

He couldn't run the forty-yard dash if you gave him from ten in the morning till two in the afternoon. He was always being kidded about it. But what a fine player—quick, strong, and great balance. No one could knock him off his feet. You very seldom saw him in the ground. John Sandusky

Watch a hilarious video clip of Art Donovan being interviewed on the Johnny Carson show in the early 1990s.

It was at Virginia where I got the nickname "Bullet," which was a great misnomer because I wasn't very fast. In fact, there have been more articles written about how slow I was. I think my best time in the 100-yard dash was something like 11:2. But I did have a good takeoff, a quick start, and for the first 30 yards or so I was right on beat. Bill Dudley

Bill Dudley was a willing signer. Above is just a part of the 1941 UPI All-American article signed by both Dudley and Dick Wildung in 1993.

I'll tell you 'bout a play we had when I was with the Pittsburgh Steelers. It was called "What's the matter" play. What happened was that a situation came up against those same damn Giants—Huff, Robustelli, Katcavage, Roosevelt Brown—and we had fifteen yards to go for a touchdown. Those cats were real poison when you got down close, so in the huddle I called the "What's the matter" play. What happens is this. I walk up behind the center but I keep my hands tucked in my crotch. I call out "Red!" which begins the signal count, but all of a sudden John Henry, the fullback, calls out of the backfield behind me, "Hey, wait a minute." So I stop the count and rear up and I turn toward him and I sing out, "What's the matter?" Across the line the Giants begin to relax and they think, "Oh man, what a bum team this is," and they stand up to enjoy the confusion, when suddenly, two beats after the word "matter" the ball is hiked right past my hip to John Henry and he takes off—I mean like he just tears! Sam Huff was laughing so hard he could hardly run after John Henry. He run like he was crazy drunk in some cabbage patch, just stumbling along holding his sides.

Bobby Layne What a head-hunter he was. He hit [Charley] Trippi with a roundhouse right, his arm extended, and the plastic surgeons had to redo the whole of Trippi's face—jaw, nose . . . .You know, there's a fine line between being nasty and being dirty. I don't know whether Sprinkle was nasty or dirty, but John Henry was just plain dirty. There was a time in San Francisco when I caught a pass, and some defensive guy got me by the ankle and I was dragging against him. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of John Henry coming for me, getting set to clobber me with that roundhouse right, so I shifted the ball to under my left arm and as he came in I gave him a short pop with my right fist and down he went before he could get that punch of his uncorked. Really cold-cocked him. The referee said, "Okay, Hart, that'll cost you fifteen yards." I cried out, "But didn't you see what he was going to do to me?" "Sure," said the ref. "And I probably would have done the same thing you did. But you did the hitting, so it will cost you fifteen." I'm probably the only guy who ever carried the ball on a play and got penalized fifteen yards for unnecessary roughness.

Leon Hart

. . . in '57 we were playing the Lions at Detroit in the fourth game of the year, and their big fullback, John Henry Johnson, took a cheap shot at Carl Taseff on an extra-point attempt. He hit him a shot in the nose and broke it, and Taseff didn't play for the rest of the '57 season. The next time we played the Lions, the following season, Johnson tried to do the same goddamn thing to Taseff. But this time he missed. I said to myself, yet again, "I'm going to get this sonofabitch sooner or later," because I really like Taseff . . . .I told Ray Krouse, a teammate on the Colts who had played two seasons with the Lions, "John Henry Johnson is a marked man." Krouse warned me that Johnson was a tough bastard. But it didn't matter. Honor was honor. Besides, I was no weeping willow, either. So a year after this, we're playing in Detroit, and Johnson brings a kickoff back and is run out of bounds right in front of our bench. I was wearing one of those football capes that obscured my numbers, but I knew if I punched the guy I'd get caught. So when our special teams ran him out of bounds, he was still traveling fairly fast, and I hit that black bastard so hard with my shoulder, smashing it right into his face, that I figured, "Uh oh, here's one I finally killed." I was wrong. He laid there for a while. But he got up. And when he got up, whoops, watch out. I got out of his way real quick. Krouse was right. John Henry Johnson was a tough alley fighter.

Art Donovan

If I was going down a dark alley where hoodlums hang out late at night, I would rather have John Henry with me than anyone else on earth. He was just a helluva nice guy. But he hit like a tornado—all over you at once. And he was absolutely fearless.

Leo Nomellini

John Henry was Pittsburgh's principal thug. He was a street-brawling SOB who used to drink shots with Bobby Layne. On kickoffs, John Henry had this quaint habit: he'd sneak up on people, break their jaws with his forearm. One kickoff, John Henry shattered the jaw of our backup fullback, Ed Modzelewski. John Henry broke two different bones, Ed was all fucked up. After the game, our team passed around a hat. Each man stuck $20 in the hat: whoever messed up John Henry would get the pot. Man, they never touched him. He'd dance and move and taunt. If John Henry somehow got cornered, he'd slub it out, or bite people. Though we never stopped trying, we never got John Henry. The ante kept growing.

Jim Brown

Around 1959, when John Henry Johnson was with the Lions, I got blind-sided by him on a "dog." He was the "near" back. I came across and thought I had the ball carrier for an eight-yard loss. I didn't even see John Henry. He got me right on the jaw and knocked nine fillings out of my mouth. I got up with a handful of silver.

Bill Koman

These 1958 and 1959 Topps cards are the actual cards I bought when I was a kid (probably from Wolfe's Market). They are in very good condition. Johnson signed this and another autograph for me in November 1989.

Stan was one of the first weight lifters in the business, and he was kind of a unique attraction. He was so strong as a result. There used to be pictures of him in the newspapers doing push-ups with someone sitting on his shoulders. Mike Pyle

I developed my own form of conditioning. I had been working on a carefully planned weight-lifting program since my high school days. No one was lifting weights with the Bears when I got there. It was not in vogue in the 1950s; in fact I was warned that I might be risking my career working with weights. They thought I’d become muscle-bound and lose my speed and agility. Actually, if I hadn’t started lifting weights early, I would never have become a pro football player. Stan Jones

These Topps cards of Stan Jones are the actual cards I bought when I was a kid (probably from Wolfe's Market). They are in very good condition, especially the '59 card which is Ex-Mt condition (almost still smell that sliver of insert gum).

I asked Stan if he would tell me who the toughest, most bruising guys he played with or against. This is what he wrote:

John Mackey (1941-2011)

John Mackey is a powerful tight end, a good runner, the best of any receiver, and a good blocker. He's about as hard a man as I ever had to tackle. It takes two or three men to stop him sometimes.

Deacon Jones

Mackey was a very serious competitor . . . .Mackey once explained to me how easy it was for him to get psyched up for a game: he just let himself get hungry. He ate a Saturday night meal, but skipped everything on Sunday and just sat around getting angrier as he got hungrier. He was an awfully good man to have on your side.

George Plimpton

Shit, when I used to play against certain guys I knew were scared, first play I'd pop them upside their head. That was the end. I didn't have to worry about them the rest of the game.

George "One Play" McAfee (1918-2009)

I was late in signing with the Bears that first year, and they were already into training camp when I arrived. . . . I will never forget my first impression. I walked into camp—it was on a Sunday morning, and the Bears were having a scrimmage. The first thing I saw was Harry Clark catching a punt and running it back. Bill Osmanski came flying in and hit him and knocked Clark out cold. I said, Lord of mercy, what am I getting myself into? I made up my mind there and then that I would do everything in my power to run as fast as I could and be as elusive as I could. George McAfee

This is one of two 1988 Swell cards autographed by George McAfee in my collection.

George McAfee autographed this 1941 Tom Paprocki cartoon.

Watch video clip of George McAfee (#22) making a defensive stop and some nifty running in a November 20, 1939, game between Duke and North Carolina. The Blue Devils won 13-3.

I was All-Pro in 1952 on defense because Charlie Trippi was still playing. I didn't move to offense until he was done playing, but I didn't mind. I'd played it all my life. I loved it as much as offense. I got to hit instead of being hit. I had no idea the Cardinals were going to trade me, but I was very happy because the Cardinals weren't winning, There weren't a whole lot of fun moments with the Cardinals. We only won once in my six years with them [7-5 in 1956]. I was going back to California where I lived and I was going to a great Rams team. I was on a team that was just right for me. Ollie Matson

Ollie was a superbly conditioned athlete who had won a bronze medal in the 400 meters at the Helsinki Olympics. At 6-foot-2, 210 pounds, he was probably the fastest big man in the NFL. He was also a beautiful ball-carrier to watch. He was a smooth, long-striding runner who appeared to be uncomplicated—until he gave a little fake and turned on the afterburner, leaving a defensive player with his mouth open and his feet rooted to the ground. Ollie was the complete team player who played both offense and defense. He was also a quality human being. Don Paul

He not only was big, he was fast. He'd be running fast, then just before being tackled, he'd run faster and score. He was amazing. Don Stonesifer

These Topps cards of Ollie Matson are the actual cards I bought when I was a kid (probably from Wolfe's Market). The 1957 and 1959 cards are in very good condition.

Merlin Olsen (1940-2010)

A good defensive lineman has to be part charging buffalo and part ballet dancer. And he has to know when to be each. Merlin Olsen

I asked Olsen who was the roughest, most bruising player he played against. His respons: Jim Taylor of Green Bay.

My son, William, was about twelve years old in probably about 1990 when he drew this sketch of Merlin Olsen and sent it to him to be autographed.

This took some doing to gather all these autographs. Deacon Jones is one of the few autographs that I had to pay for and was the final signature for me on this photo. If I remember, Deacon may have charged me $5. As of this time (2010), Olsen and Lundy have passed away.

We took great pride in the fact that every year the Foursome was together we improved against the run. Everyone knew his role on that unit. A guy like Deacon, well, you just turned him loose. To ask him to play a reading defense would have been insane. Rosey, who played next to me, was perhaps the quickest off the ball, but if he saw that I was hung up, he'd just cover for me. Lamar, on the other side, was 6'7"; he could worry a quarterback, but he could also play traffic cop. It was very pretty, the way we worked together. Merlin Olsen

Pete wasn't a great pattern runner, and he wasn't exceedingly fast. But there was no one who could beat him getting out in the open and grabbing a pass. This was due to his amazing strength, determination, and self-confidence. Nobody ever took the ball away from Pihos, although Pihos took the ball away from a lot of other people.

Norm Van Brocklin

The Philadelphia Eagles had Steve Van Buren running behind Pete Pihos. It was like a freight train coming at you, so [coach] Hunk Anderson moved me out from tackle and said, “Wherever Pihos goes, you go. If he takes a drink of water, you take a drink of water. If he goes to the bathroom, you go to the bathroom.” The first play, Van Buren goes 37 yards for a touchdown. The second play, we stop him and go on to win 38-21. That's how the three-linebacker set began.

Les Richter (1930-2010)

Les Richter and Don Paul were two men who could take more pain and punishment and still play, than any men I have ever known. They played with broken jaws, with a cheek smashed in. Broken bones just didn't seem to bother them at all. And they hit! Hamp Pool

Sure I play rough. But that's what the Rams pay me for, and that's what the fans pay to see. If you don’t like to knock somebody down, you have no business in this game. Les Richter

This is the actual 1956 Topps card that I bought in 1956. Still in pretty good condition.

If we had a smart mouthed kid on the squad, Andy would take him alone in a corner and when they came back the kid would be shaking and he'd call everybody "sir" for the next year or so.

Alex Webster

Watch Andy on the field and you'll be studying a real master. Terrific speed of mind, hands, and feet make him the best. But without burning desire, he would be just an average football player.

Allie Sherman

I thought I might be drafted by the Giants, who were the closest team, but they didn’t show much interest. The Pittsburgh Steelers seemed the most interested in me. But when it got down tot he nineteenth draft choice in 1951—in those years they had thirty picks, unlike the twelve of today—the Rams took me. They told me later that that far down in the draft they were merely looking for special features in a player. Well, I had blocked a lot of punts and, as they told me, they felt anyone who could block punts well was worth taking a look at. Basically I was drafted on that alone. . . . I signed with the Rams—no signing bonus, just a plane ticket to get out there. My first-year salary was $4,250, about $350 a game.

Andy Robustelli

in 1956 we got Andy Robustelli, a wonderful defensive end. The thing about Andy was that he was such a smart player. . . . The nature of our defense demanded very disciplined football players. And the one who so often pulled them all together, kept them together, was Andy Robustelli. He was a natural team leader on the field. It was because he was so smart. He always took such good advantage of the keys we used.

Tom Landry

Andy Robustelli was really the leader on the field for our defense. I used to have some fun with him. We called him “The Pope.” You’d put your arm around a girl, and he’d be over in a minute next to you, saying, “Quit that—get your hand off her.” Sometimes I’d kneel in front of him and ask if I could kiss his ring. I’d play some mind games with him too. One time we were having one helluva tussle out there and he came over to me and said something about you’re not covering right, you’re not doing this, you’re not doing that. I said, “Why don’t we just switch positions. I’ll play end, you come out here and see what you can do.” I’d do it just to get him going. Don’t get me wrong—I always thought the world of Andy. He was a great leader and a fine guy, and I’d do anything for him. But we liked to have a little fun too.

Dick Lynch

He had surprisingly deceptive strength and great hands and was always a guy who would come up with the big play for you. It would be third and seven and he'd be in the huddle saying, "Okay now, we gotta get 'em right here," and damned if he wouldn't bust in there and sack the quarterback or block a field goal and make a big play.

Sam Huff

These Topps cards of Joe Perry are the actual cards I bought when I was a kid (probably from Wolfe's Market). The 1957 and 1959 cards are in excellent condition.

Tex Schramm (1920-2003)

President—Dallas Cowboys 1960-89 [Pro Football Hall of Fame 1991]

Tex's volatile feelings often bubble, or even burst, through the surface. A lost football game sometimes hit him like the death of a friend. Big wins could prompt a volcanic eruption of exuberant cheer. He could often be a warm, gregarious, and compassionate gentleman. At other times he seemed to revel in red-faced shouting matches with anyone—friends as well as foes—who disagreed with him. Tom Landry

Lee Roy Selmon (1954-2011)

At halftime I told the coach my deepest secrets. I said I never wanted to be buried at sea, I never wanted to get hit in the mouth with a hockey puck, and I didn't want to go out and play that second half against Lee Roy Selmon.

Ernie Stautner (1925-2006)

When I roomed with Ernie we had some great times. Wednesday night at midnight was when Ernie and me would stop partying. We were always ready for the game. I don't care what the gossips say. Of course, some games we were readier than others. I'll never forget Ernie the day the doctor got in late and was supposed to give him Novocain for his shoulder and he grabbed the wrong bottle and gave him enough Demerol to kill a horse. Ernie almost died. They took him to a hospital and he was in a coma for a while. I went to see him. Ernie talked like he was going to die. Finally, he said he needed a priest. The good man arrived and Ernie kinda croaked to him, "Father, forgive me for I have sinned. This is my confession. Father, there ain't much time so I'm just sort of gonna hit the high spots . . . ." Bobby Layne

This is the actual 1956 Ernie Stautner card I bought (probably from Wolfe's Market) when I was a ten year old kid.

Watch a video clip of Stautner when he was coach of the Frankfurt Galaxy.

Joe "Jumbo Joe" Stydahar (1912-1977)

Joe Stydahar played at 255, but he could have played at three hundred. He went to three hundred as soon as he quit playing and he wasn't fat at three hundred. Of course, in our time there wouldn't be but two or three in the whole nation that would weigh three hundred pounds.

Bulldog Turner

I obtained this 3x5 autograph in a trade with a collector specializing in 1940-41 Bears football autographs in November 2010. I traded a Joe Maniaci 3x5 for it.

Johnny Unitas (1933-2002)

I had spent years reading quarterbacks, but I couldn’t read Unitas. He was the consummate poker player, using his eyes as diversions instead of windows into his thoughts. He’d hunch behind the center, his eyes moving but never resting on any particular spot. Then he’d take the ball and start stepping back with that patented shoulder swing copied by every teenage quarterback in America, his head steady on its base, the eyes seeming to see all and nothing at the same time. Then, as if in response to some inner rhythm, he would launch the ball toward its target. If it wasn’t caught, it usually wasn’t his fault. Number 19 was very good. Dick Butkus

These are the actual John Unitas cards I bought (probably from Wolfe's Market) in 1958 and 1959 when I was twelve and thirteen years old.

See video clip of John Unitas in a short interview in 1966. Watch a video clip of Unitas loosening up throwing a football at the 1961 Pro Bowl. See a video program featuring the unbeatable passing combination of John Unitas and Raymond Berry.

Gene Upshaw (1945-2008)

The Raiders' Gene Upshaw was huge—six-foot-five and 265 pounds—and he was as nasty as they come. The thing I liked best about Gene was that he shared my protect-the-quarterback-at-all-costs philosophy. Ken Stabler loved him for it, of course, because it was Snake's ass he was so bent on protecting. During one game between Oakland and Cleveland, Joe "Turkey" Jones, the Browns' homicidal defensive end, blind-sided Stabler long after he released a pass. Upshaw plotted his revenge in the huddle, and on the very next play, Jones wound up on his knees. Gene then gave him a taste of his own cheap-shot medicine and the "Turkey" was cooked, leaving the field on a cart and never returning the rest of the day. Conrad Dobler

Bill Walsh (1931-2007)

I never gave anything short of 1,000 percent for Bill, and I never received a compliment from him, never a touch of humanity . . . .I respect Bill as a coach, but as a person on and off the field, he confuses me . . . .Bill is a complex fellow, but one thing that has remained a consistent part of his personality is his sharp sense of humor. When he's on and in a good mood, he always leaves us laughing. Joe Montana

Bill Walsh was cremated and his ashes scattered in Monterrey, California.

Arnie Weinmeister (1923-2000)

Defensive Tackle—(Washington) New York Yankees 1948, Brooklyn-New York Yankees 1949, New York Giants 1950-53, British Columbia Lions (CFL) 1954-55 [Pro Football Hall of Fame 1984]

When the Giants selected me, they sent me a letter that said something to the effect that they were happy to have me and that they were proud to offer me a contract. Only thing was, the contract offered $6,400 for the year. The year before, with the Yankees, I’d made $10,000. So I wrote back and I told them that I wasn’t interested because I wouldn’t play for any less than I had the year before. The banter went back and forth over phone calls for some time. I had gone back to Seattle, and the Giants were in training camp. By this time I’d gone to work for the Aetna Life Insurance Company. They called again and said they really wanted me to come back and talk contract. I said I would if they provided me a first-class, round-trip airline ticket. They did. The Giants were in training up at Saranac Lake, New York. So I went up there. It was around lunchtime when I arrived, and they suggested I go have lunch with the players and that we would get together afterwards. So I set my bag in the hall of the lodge there . . . and had lunch. A couple of former teammates with the Yankees, Tom Landry and Otto Schnellbacher, were sitting with me, and they were telling me that they were badly in need of tackles. That reinforced my resolve for the upcoming meeting. I met with Wellington Mara and the coach, who was Steve Owen at the time—the only coach they’d had over the previous twenty years. I told them that under no circumstances would I play for any less than $10,000 the first year, $11,000 the second, and a two-year, no-cut contract. A no-cut contract in those days was unheard of. They said they simply weren’t going to do that. I said, “Well, that’s fine. I haven’t even unpacked my bag, and so I’ll be on my way.” And I got up. They said, reluctantly, “Okay, we’ll write up the contract.” Arnie Weinmeister

In 1938 I did something I thought would bring a little class to the game. I signed Whizzer White out of Colorado University for a salary of $15,800, which was easily the highest salary pro football was paying. White was very hard to sign . . . .Anyhow, the fifteen [thousand dollars] got pro football a lot of publicity, and of course White was an asset to the game, an extremely high-class fellow . . . .Everybody on the team respected White highly. If he had been bigheaded, he could have got himself in a lot of trouble, but he fit in right. He was a fine back, and he was right with the boys. So we didn't mind paying him the highest salary in football. Art Rooney

This is the actual Whizzer White card I bought in 1955 when I was nine years old.

Byron White autographed this 1936 Bishop cartoon. I also have a signed 1937 Art Krenz cartoon.